


death's dream kingdom

by bluebeholder



Series: One and the Same [21]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Apocalypse, Body Horror, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Red Lyrium Fenris, Tainted Anders, Temporary Character Death, brief appearance by inquisitor and DAI companions, the bad timeline from in hushed whispers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26204995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebeholder/pseuds/bluebeholder
Summary: 9:41 DragonThe Herald of Andraste is thrown out of time  and the world descends into chaos at Corypheus’ hand. In that chaos, Anders, Fenris, and Justice confront the apocalypse together. As Anders experiences an overwhelming Calling, Justice takes control of him to keep him alive. Infected by red lyrium, Fenris is fighting a losing battle to stay alive. They travel back to Kirkwall, where their story began, to attempt to strike a blow against Corypheus, no matter how futile.Only a miracle will get them out of this nightmare alive.
Relationships: Anders/Fenris (Dragon Age), Fenris & Justice (Dragon Age)
Series: One and the Same [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654444
Comments: 13
Kudos: 41





	death's dream kingdom

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Welcome to a thought experiment in what happens to someone with lyrium carved into their skin when red lyrium starts growing all over everything! This is set a fair bit down the road from the current point I'm at, but the idea Would Not Leave Me Be, so here we are.
> 
>  **For those of you unfamiliar with DAI, spoilers ahead for quest lines and decisions.**
> 
> For anyone who wants to read on anyway, here's the minimal-spoiler background you should have: during a particular quest, time travel magic punts the Inquisitor out of the timeline, allowing The Bad Guys to kickstart the apocalypse. The Inquisitor returns to the timeline in the Bad Future a year later, finds the time travel magic to get home to the correct timeline again, and thereby prevents the apocalypse.
> 
> On with the show!

After weeks of travel, the crumbling ruins of Kirkwall at last spread out below them. Ironic, that their story should end where it began: a devastated city illuminated by the glow of fire and red lyrium, haunted by nightmares. In so many ways, the city has not changed from that of Fenris’ memory.

He and Justice have come back to Kirkwall on a wild hope: to destroy the Gallows. It is the center of several rituals making Corypheus stronger, and if they can do to the Gallows what Anders did to the Chantry so many years ago—well, it will certainly be a blow. Not enough to end this nightmare, but enough to give other parts of the resistance a fighting chance.

Fenris is breathing hard, harder than he should. His body is betraying him, failing him at last, after so long fighting. The sword on his back feels impossibly heavy. He pauses, as they crest the ridge over Kirkwall, to catch his breath.

“Sit,” Justice says.

“We do not have time to _sit_ ,” Fenris says. Wants to snarl. It comes out as a pained rasp.

Justice rests a heavy hand on Fenris’ shoulder, sending a shock of pain down his arm and up his neck as every lyrium line lights up, swollen skin and muscle searing. He stumbles. Catches himself on Justice’s chest.

“You need rest,” Justice says.

For half a second, it’s Anders’ voice.

Fenris sits.

Justice stands over him, tireless as always. Watchful, in the event that they are attacked. Again.

Elbows on his knees, Fenris leans forward and rests his face in his hands. The lines on his palms ache but, if he closes his eyes, he can imagine that it’s the old ache of which he’d always complained. A simple pain, annoying. Not… _this_.

“The servants of Corypheus will have discerned the purpose of the sewers,” Justice says. “The old blood sacrifices will have resumed. We must avoid Darktown until we are ready to go to the Gallows.”

“Fasta vass…I had hoped to go back to your clinic,” Fenris says into his hands. “A place of healing and salvation would be welcome.”

If possible, Justice sounds wistful. “I do not believe it would be such a place any longer.”

The discordant chiming of the lyrium rings louder for a moment and Fenris cringes. Worse every day now. And nothing to be done. The change inevitable. Soon enough, he’ll become like those red lyrium horrors they’ve fought their whole way to Kirkwall.

“You still sing like home,” Justice says, as if listening to Fenris’ thoughts. Then again, perhaps Fenris spoke aloud without realizing. That happens often, lately.

“I sound like a demon,” Fenris says. He looks up at Justice, at the shining eyes as blue as the sky once was, and wishes more than anything that it was Anders’ own hazel eyes looking back. He shakes off the moment and rises, stifling a hiss of pain. “We must go on. Hightown seems mostly intact. Perhaps my mansion remains.”

They are lucky, entering the city. No one catches them on their way in. Activity is concentrated below at the Gallows, not Hightown. It makes sense. A blessing, just now.

Fenris’ old mansion is mostly intact, save for the roof half falling in and the stairs being broken. It is no matter: the lower floor is preserved. Justice strides on ahead, to ensure the mansion is empty of other occupants, while Fenris makes his way to the kitchen, to see what has been left behind there, and to light a fire if he can. The end of the world is remarkably _cold_.

There is an old mirror in the hallway, designed for someone to make themselves presentable before entering what was once the dining room. As Fenris passes it, he stops and looks at himself. It is the first time he’s seen his reflection in…he doesn’t know _how_ long. And he hardly recognizes what he sees.

Every line of lyrium on his body glows a dull and terrible red, the light pulsing softly, as if to his heartbeat. The skin around the lines is swollen and bruised. He knew his lips were dry and cracked, but not the extent of the damage, or that it was because the lyrium lines curving over his chin have begun to spread, crawling up his jaw. He was unaware that his eyes were permanently bloodshot now (or perhaps the lyrium has reached them), though the dark circles under them come as no surprise. The dots on his forehead are spreading, tendrils snaking up to his hairline and down to his brows. The shape of his face is changed slightly, jaw twisted slightly to the side, eyes too far apart, pushed by the progression of the lyrium over his face.

His chest, bare after his tunic was destroyed in a fight with corrupted Templars, is worse. The knot of lyrium over his sternum has begun spreading tendrils of its own volition, digging them ruthlessly through his skin. They warp the old scrolling lines that once adorned him, thin and wormlike as they spread out. A few have reached his shoulders, where his flesh looks twisted, glowing from beneath as veins of red lyrium spread under his skin, waiting to burst out. Others concentrate on his chest, mocking the pattern of muscle and bone.

Fenris does not _know_ what happens when those tendrils reach his heart, but he can guess.

The lyrium on his sternum is growing, too. Raised in relief now, sharp and jagged, as if growing into crystals. Similar crystals, much smaller but equally jagged, have already appeared on his other joints—his elbows, wrists, ankles, knees—it’s almost a disappointment to see them on his shoulders, when he turns a bit, and the line of them running down his spine. He thought the pain of his back was just exertion. More fool he, then.

A part of him is surprised at how clinical the examination is. Another part, the fatalistic one that has already accepted this as a futile end, is not. Fenris knows very well where the end of this road leads.

He and Justice sit by the fire, in the intact kitchen. This is the same hearth where he once sat with Anders, trading anecdotes over wine, the same hearth where their cat once slept. But there is no talk now, and their cat is far away, the safety of distance protecting her from the horrors here. The memories are another dull ache, added to the ever-growing hoard of pain.

Justice, following the knowledge of experience worn into Anders’ hands, prepares hot compresses for the places of worst pain, and helps Fenris attend to himself. They’ve long since run out of any herbs that would help, but the heat is good. Justice is not good with the more focused healing spells, and he saves most of his mana for his more violent magics. Still, sitting by the fire, he activates a panacea effect, and Fenris can breathe a little easier.

It feels a little safer here, in the depths of the mansion he once called home. When Justice retrieves old, moth-eaten bedding from the upper floors, Fenris even finds rest on a bed softer than any he’s had in a long while. He falls asleep watching Justice stand guard at the door, and when he awakes, Justice is standing in the same place.

“Let me see him,” Fenris says softly, sitting up with a wince.

“It is not wise,” Justice says, turning to him. But he crosses the room anyway and sits down beside Fenris. “You will not have long.”

“I know,” Fenris says. He reaches out and takes Justice’s hand, watches at the blue light fades and a different awareness reappears on this familiar face.

“I see we made it to Kirkwall,” Anders says, squeezing Fenris’ hand. His eyes shine bright and alive in the firelight, but his hand already trembles.

Fenris tugs on his hand. “Not _now_ , amatus.”

Anders resists his pull. “When are you two headed for the Gallows?”

“In the morning,” Fenris says. He tugs again. “Please. _Anders_.”

“It’ll hurt you,” Anders protests.

“I do not _care_.”

With care, Anders moves closer, leaning heavily into Fenris’ arms. Heedless of the stabbing pain, Fenris holds Anders tightly as possible, face in his shoulder. He refuses to risk letting go, and having Anders vanish.

“Oh, love…” Anders returns the embrace, careful. One hand runs through Fenris’ hair, a familiar touch, though Anders’ hand is shaking. His whole body is shaking, in fact.

Fenris draws back a little, looking Anders in the eyes. His expression is a little unfocused, distracted, listening to a voice Fenris cannot hear. “It won’t be long, will it?” Fenris asks, touching Anders’ cheek lightly.

“It won’t be long, no,” Anders murmurs. He looks back at Fenris, clearly making the effort to focus. The dark circles under his eyes, evident even when Justice is in control, are more pronounced without that blue light. “Justice is going to have hard work ahead of him.”

“Stop,” Fenris says. He squeezes Anders’ trembling hands. “Think of other things.”

Anders nods, thumbs stroking Fenris’ aching wrists. “You’re in a lot of pain,” he says softly. “Let me help, love.”

“Thank you, amatus,” Fenris says, brushing a kiss to Anders’ cheek.

He moves as Anders guides him, obeying as Anders provides magical relief for the worst pain. Soothing the sore skin, gently healing the internal damage. Fenris would not care at _all_ if there were no magic behind the touch. The important thing is that this is Anders, and _only_ Anders, touching him. With that familiar touch, the fire crackling, Fenris can almost pretend that this is normal. That this is how they lived a year ago, before everything fell apart.

“Is that good?” Anders asks, at last turning Fenris back to face him.

“It is enough,” Fenris says. “Save the rest of your energy for tomorrow. It will be a hard fight.”

Anders smiles, an echo of his old mirth. “I seem to recall that the last time we were here, you informed me that I was not _allowed_ to take down the Gallows.”

“Times have changed, mage,” Fenris returns, rolling his eyes.

“They have indeed, _elf_.” Still smiling, Anders leans forward, tucks a loose lock of hair behind Fenris’ ear.

As he moves, Fenris spots something on the side of Anders’ neck. His stomach lurches. A bruised patch of skin, surrounded by a spreading patch of gray, extends down beneath his collar.

“Take off your jacket?” Fenris asks, forcing down the panic. “Be comfortable with me, amatus.”

“Seducing me now, are you?” Anders asks with a tired wink. But he takes off his coat, setting it aside, and for the first time Fenris sees the extent of the damage to Anders’ body. Justice has been hiding it from him. Anders’ arms and neck and the parts of his chest exposed by his open collar are all turning a sickly gray or jaundiced yellow, marred by places bruised dark and terrible.

Seeing him so, Fenris realizes with a shock that even with Justice’s perpetual intervention, it won’t be long, less than a day, perhaps, before the taint overwhelms Anders completely. Even if Fenris survives the events of the next day, this will certainly be the last time they see each other. Either Justice will have to maintain permanent control over Anders, or—

Wordless, Fenris pulls Anders into a kiss, hands curled in the collar of his shirt. It’s bloody—both of them have terribly chapped lips—but neither of them stop. Anders makes the same soft, beautiful sounds in this kiss as he did the first time they kissed, with the Chantry burning above them. For a moment, it’s perfect. Peaceful.

Then, with a sickening lurch, it occurs to Fenris that Anders, perhaps unaware of what he does, is licking blood off Fenris’ lips.

He pushes Anders down gently. Anders pulls Fenris along, gentle, urgent, and for a moment Fenris sees stark terror on his face. Anders knows, then. He is aware of how far gone he is.

“I’m here,” Fenris says, lacing one aching hand with Anders’ shaking one.

Anders doesn’t reply, except to bring Fenris’ hand to his lips. After a long silence, a flicker of a smile, one meant for bright laughing days and peaceful free nights, graces Anders’ face. “To think I’d end my days with you, of all people,” he says.

“If you had told me when we met that I would watch the world burn beside you,” Fenris says, smiling, “I would have assumed you set it on fire yourself.”

“Didn’t I?” Anders asks, the mirth fading. “I destroyed the Chantry. Set off a war that let the rebels be corrupted. It was—”

Fenris silences Anders with a light kiss. “By your logic, the chain of blame holds me as well, for going with Hawke and helping her break the seals on Corypheus’ prison,” he says. “He would have found a way, amatus, with or without you.”

Anders does not look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t argue. Rather, he pulls Fenris into another kiss, deeper, longer, and this time they continue on.

It is too painful for Fenris to do anything athletic, and at this stage Anders is not so responsive to touch as he once was. This is no matter. It is more than enough to be close, to enjoy this last peaceful moment together. Fenris can feel Anders breathing. For now, at least, they are alive. _That_ is what counts.

But after a while, Fenris can feel how hard Anders is shaking, full-body tremors. He breaks the kiss to see Anders looking back with hazy eyes, licking the blood off his lips again. The bruised skin on his neck looks more like a lesion. When Fenris looks down at his arms he sees other, similar marks there, where the taint makes itself known.

It’s over.

“You’re beautiful,” Anders says softly, hazily. “Have I told you that?”

“So are you,” Fenris says, looking back up into Anders’ face. He presses a hand to Anders’ chest, ribs in sharp relief, and feels his heart beating slow. Too slow, sluggish. His voice breaks a little. “You should sleep, amatus.”

“No,” Anders says, voice startlingly sharp. “I _can’t_. If I do I won’t wake up.”

Strands of graying hair fall over Anders’ face. Gently, eyes stinging, Fenris tucks the strands behind Anders’ ear, hand lingering there. “Venhedis, Anders, you are _tired_.”

Anders turns his head and kisses Fenris’ palm. Pain spikes up Fenris’ wrist, but the warmth of the kiss is more than worth it. “So are you.”

The fire is dying. Fenris tries to print the image of Anders’ face in his mind, memorize the amber shine of his eyes, the too-sharp planes of his face. His voice comes out thick and choked: “Then we should both rest.”

“Stay with me,” Anders whispers.

“I will be here until the end, amatus,” Fenris says.

When the fire goes out, Anders is still with him.

When midnight passes, Fenris is not sure if the body in his arms is Anders anymore, but he refuses to let go, all the same.

At the sickly and cold dawn, only Justice remains.

There is no time for anything great. Still, Justice grants Fenris the mercy of a private moment to mourn. Pain sits heavy in Fenris’ chest, a new one, and Fenris wonders if it is the lyrium reaching his heart, or the terrible agony of loss.

Side by side, they go through the empty, familiar streets full of ash. Streets and buildings are studded with huge growths of red lyrium that make Fenris’ own lyrium glow as he passes. He can feel it growing, now, new crystals pushing out of him and leaving blood dripping down his arms, his back. On his face, Fenris can _hear_ the lyrium growing through his skin. He is becoming one of those monstrosities they have fought so often since this began. Perhaps worse.

It is his turn to die.

-

Kubide and Dorian practically fall out of the portal. Dorian makes it look graceful; Kubide falls flat on her face. The indignity matters somewhat less than the shock and horror on Alexius’ face, Felix’s yell of surprise and joy, and the fact that Varric, Blackwall, and Leliana are all alive and well in the room.

After spending so much time in that strange future world, it feels jarring to realize that for the rest here, no more than a minute passed.

She gives orders almost thoughtlessly. No, they aren’t killing Alexius. Yes, they’re bringing the Grand Enchanter and her mages on as allies. No, they didn’t intend to cause any trouble. Yes, they’ll be out of Ferelden with all deliberate speed.

“That,” Kubide says, sitting down on the dais and watching Inquisition men lead Alexius away while Leliana speaks to Fiona on the sidelines, “was a disaster.”

“No harm done, my dear Adaar,” Dorian says bracingly, sitting down beside her. Light voice aside, his posture is tired and there’s an unhappy twist to his mouth. “After all, we got back.”

Kubide glances at Leliana, poised and alive, and over at Varric and Blackwall, chatting and composed and perfectly normal. Visions of them—a dead Leliana, Varric and Blackwall dying of the red lyrium growing inside them—dance over her eyes. She shakes her head. They’re alive now, and that’s what counts for it.

Dawn will be breaking soon. Tonight seems to have been one long, terrible nightmare. And, given that she and Dorian made it back alive, that’s all it really was, after all.

-

Fenris wakes to Anders shaking him violently. “Fenris! _Fenris_! Wake _up_!”

He sits bolt upright, blanket tangled around his legs, visions of a sickly sky and red lyrium clouding his eyes, and instinctively lights up his lyrium. Blue. Blue and stinging and normal.

“Thank the _Maker_ , I had the worst nightmare that you were…” Anders trails off and looks at Fenris, still a little wild-eyed. “You had the same dream?”

“That the world was ending?” Fenris asks, running his hands through his hair, letting the lyrium glow die.

“Yes,” Anders says. He stares at Fenris. “I…the Calling, I heard it.”

Panic spikes sharp and Fenris grabs Anders by the shoulders. “Can you still?” he demands.

“No, no,” Anders says, “I’m fine, I—”

Fenris drags Anders into a crushing embrace. A moment later Anders returns it, still panting. All around them, Fenris hears people waking up with shouts and cries of panic. Demands to know if people are alive, if the world is ending.

“Fasta vass, what _is_ this?” Fenris asks into Anders’ shoulder. There are, inexplicably, tears burning his eyes. “A demon’s vision?”

“I don’t know,” Anders replies. He hasn’t let go yet.

After a moment, Fenris draws back. “I think,” he says unsteadily, “that it must have been a nightmare, our own fears realized…”

“I agree.” Anders’ eyes, familiar and beloved, shine bright and alive in the light of the campfire someone lit. “I…would rather not live that out in reality.”

“Nor I,” Fenris says. He won’t soon forget what it felt like to have Anders die in his arms, even if it was a dream. In the interest of forgetting faster, he pulls Anders close again.

He doesn’t plan on letting go any time soon.

**Author's Note:**

> So my Inquisitor Kubide Adaar is the one selected for this universe. If you haven't read about her, and you'd like to, [A Monster In Their Midst](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23530438) is where to start. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoyed that little trip down tragedy lane! :D


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